Gather Your Rosebuds
by AlissonLoon
Summary: With the end of the world came the beginning, and the last man standing met the woman he would stand with. Daryl and May are both similar and different, and slowly they begin to realize that where another falls short, the other rises steeply. In the time following Doomsday, the two survivors find someone else to live for... that is, with the help of two important others. (OCxDaryl)
1. The Great Blue Hills of God

That fat, yellow sun dropped like the yolk of a cracked egg onto the skyline of the distant Appalachians. The balmy breezes that tickled the sweetgrass were far beyond favorable, but the long-leafed peach trees were still gray and unyielding—with skinny, open arms asking God for mercy. Too bad times were too tough to spare those wailing weeds any water. In the far, far distance—between two rows of dead peach trees—was the staggering skeleton of Marjorie Pickett, who had moved in over four months ago from the neighboring county. She'd had two sweet old dogs named Daisy and Rosie and lived with her thirty-something daughter, Clementine. She'd been escaping a herd of the Dead. Her second daughter hadn't made it.

Gaging the space between her house on the hill and the wavering remains of Miss Pickett, May kept Grandpa Joe's deer rifle leant against her bony hip. She had a while before that rotting bag of bones made its way up the steep mound on which her back porch sat. There was also the fence—adorned with the still-moving limbs of walkers caught on the barbed wire.

May gulped the remainder of her honey-yellow iced tea and walked down the steps of the porch until she reached the few trees by the house that were captured by the barriers which wrapped around them. Before Grace had gone away, her and May had kept a few peach trees within the confines of their newly-constructed pen and had worked to keep them well. They were still as green as green could be and freckled with little light-orange fruits that flickered like Hippomenes' golden apples in the sun. It wasn't just the peaches that May and Grace had kept alive—they also had kept the carrots, collards, beets, and figs. Once Grace was gone, May had taken to replanting the old herb seeds her mama had put in the basement long ago, too. Her bed of herbs grew as days and nights carried on more lonesome with every passing of the sun and the moon. She had basil, parsley, and lemon balm—all with medicinal properties and all bound to vitalize her repetitive diet of canned goods, collards, beets, carrots, figs, and peaches.

She slid her palms across her legs so the round pellets of dirt would wipe away. It was noon and she'd been outside since dawn, working with the carrots as their frilly plumes sprung from the soil.

With a stiffening creak, she headed inside. When the screen door shut loudly behind her, her body went as rigid as the wooden doorframe. Times were quiet now—music wasn't played, gunshots were silenced, and even the slamming of a door earned a quickened heartbeat. Loud noises drew the Dead. Their working brain stems processed information like a radar based on smell and sound. Loud noises were like big flashing targets and the scent of human flesh screamed _"right this way!"_ May muffled the scent with the thick peachy air of the orchard and muted the sounds simply by living without noise. It was harder than one would think—living alone in silence. May spent at least an hour a day fighting the urge to throw one of her uncle's dusty 45s on the pretty brass gramophone he'd inherited from Grandpa Joe.

While padding down the hallway on dirty, bare feet, an ominous breeze floated through the ends of her hair. She gathered it in a scrunchy, forming a buoyant blob of shiny red hair at the crown of her head, but the sour air still wrapped around her lungs and dug into her nostrils. The scent of the decaying world was something everyone had adjusted to—they had to, there was no escape from it. May had learned to cope with the bitter smell of rotting flesh, and the fruit of the fields kept her stomach quelled, but as she stood in the drifting wind she smelled something new.

The grumbling of a car rang in ears, igniting a perturbation that slipped into her awareness as an IV drip feed pushes drugs into a bloodstream. That quietness that the house had settled in just as it settled in a layer of dust was severely disturbed, and while May's mind was worried for her incoming visitors the threat of walkers being drawn loomed near her head as well. She sprang onto her toes and raced for the back porch, ripping the rifle from the swinging bench and setting it in place in her arms. It was already loaded and the suppressor was locked on, but with a quick aim and steady hand she cocked and unloaded, sending a hollow point bullet flying through the air into the rotting skull of Miss Pickett. She crumbled to the ground as May raced back inside, keeping the rifle close to her torso as she leaned against the wall beside the front door, peeking out of the ripped screen.

A silver sedan with one broken headlight and a spider-like crack in the windshield pulled up in front of the house, arriving in a miniature tornado of dust that had been cooked tawny in the waterless weather. The engine eventually cut and, though it took a while, the driver's seat door opened slowly. A woman stepped into the sun, with gray hair clipped short and blue eyes full of persevering strength. She shut the door behind her, taking the keys as she went. It appeared she was alone, though the glare on the windshield hindered May from seeing if there was a passenger sitting shotgun.

The middle-aged woman took tentative stepped forward; her body was slender and agile. She wore a dirtied blouse and denim shorts that were cut mid-thigh—the severance at the hem so sloppy it was obvious that the shorts were once full-length jeans. May further tensed when the woman pulled a handgun from the waistband of her shorts. She surveyed the area, looking to the side of the house for the Dead and into the long and far orchards that rolled away from the back of the house. She didn't seem to have caught anything or anyone, so she crept up the stairs of the front porch with a few modest creeks. She looked through the screen door, which May had ran from when she decided to hide in the parlor beside the foyer. The woman's hand clasped the brass doorknob. Before she turned, she looked back in a expeditious manner, checking to see what rested behind her. May wondered if she was merely worried about her automobile—machines which were as great as gold nowadays—but she also wondered if the woman was checking the status of issues behind her.

When the road she had driven down seemed clear of whatever she was looking for, she twisted the doorknob and stepped through the open door.

"Drop the gun."

The muzzle pressed to the woman's temple and she froze. She bent down slowly, laying the small gun on the ground with the tip of May's rifle still pressed against her skull.

"You alone?" May asked. The woman shook her head, her eyes trained ahead of her. "What you doin' alone out here?"

"I could ask you the same," the woman answered. She didn't sound like she was from Georgia, nor any place near. Perhaps the Midwest or the East Coast.

"Maybe I ain't alone."

The woman nodded her head slowly, deciding not to push the matter.

"Who are you?" May asked, digging the muzzle further into her skin and pushing the woman away slightly. The older woman winced and May pursed her lips—she didn't plan on hurting her, but she wanted to state her dominance. Part of being out in the middle of nowhere was holding your ground, no matter who came along.

"I was with a group but," she paused and her eyes flickered. "I left them."

"Why in the Hell would you've done that?"

"I had to. It was a sacrifice I made for the better of my group."

May blinked, scrunching her freckled nose as her brain processed another whiff of that acrid stench. She kept the gun on the woman as she looked through the screen door—the direction from which the smell was being carried. She saw nothing through the mesh.

"What'd you do?" May asked. The woman didn't answer for a moment; she hesitated and looked at the wallpaper, as though its floral designs held the answer to whether telling her the truth would be wise. May frowned and nudged her with the muzzle again. "What'd you do?!"

"There was some kind of malady going around, and it spread like wildfire. I tried to keep it contained so I got rid of some of its carriers early on. Some believed they could've been saved—I made an executive decision impulsively and without approval from authority."

Images of May's mama ran through her head—with her eyes yellow and her skin pallid. She was the last to break, with an unusually large interval of time between her and the preceding family member to go. May felt sympathy for the older woman, she was not the only one to suffer for the sicknesses of others.

"What's your name?"

"It's Carol," she said. "What's yours?"

May ignored Carol's question and pulled away the gun, but still kept it aimed at her head. "Where's that smell comin' from?"

"It's Walkers. They followed the car. If I'd known someone lived here… But I'd figured—"

"How many?" May asked angrily. If Carol had led them all to her house, her crops, her medicines, her weapons…

"More than a hundred."

May paused, wondering what in God's name she was going to do. Was it even worth staying? She could send Carol right on her merry way, but the Dead would still pass her house if May sent Carol on the road, and they would undoubtably smell May in such close proximity

May held the rifle tight under her arm and pulled Carol harshly by the wrist, tugging her deeper into the house. When they were in the kitchen, she ripped open the cupboards and the Lazy Susan. "There's bags 'neath the sink. Get e'erything you can hold then put 'em out in your car. I'm gettin' the guns," May ordered, handing her the rifle that she kept tucked under her arm.

"Alright," Carol agreed, looking at the stacked cupboards with wide eyes.

May wagged a stiff index figure in Carol's face until she saw the woman's cornflower eyes go slightly cross-eyed. "Now don't you try nothin' stupid, got it? I got what you need—more guns and food and water than most folk out 'ere. So don't you try _nothing._ "

Carol nodded obediently, taking the gun for protection May couldn't believe she was granting her. May waited as Carol took the rifle in her hands, sliding a hand around her hips to hold the pistol in her back pocket in case the woman tried anything. To her relief, Carol put the gun between her knees and bent over, turning to retrieve some bags from under the sink.

May headed out to the back porch, picking up one of the wide woven baskets that sat by the door. She almost tripped over her typically nimble feet as she sprinted out into the long grasses. Any peach that was relatively orange she ripped from its leafy womb and tossed into the basket, suddenly impervious to the threat of bruising. After she'd plucked about half of the trees barren, Carol appeared on the back porch with a creak.

"I got as much as the food as I could!" She yelled from the porch.

"How long we got?"

"I gained some distance, I'd say about an hour. We've got time."

"Sure, but we got a shitload to pack up," May yelled. "Come 'ere now, and bring one of them baskets by the door!"

Carol appeared shortly with a large basket resting on her chest and arms. "Get all the peaches you can—even them that only look a little ripe. I'll get the rest of the crops an' the guns. Hurry."

May ran to the beds of crops that sprawled out long and flourishing beside the widest, white-shingled wall of the house. She tore up premature carrots and young collards, hoping they were decent enough to eat. The herbs were a different story—those she'd get with the rest of the medicines.

She loaded carts of crops into the back of her truck, squishing the torn-up tarp that was already sitting in it. If they were on the run, they'd need that tarp.

After she had fallen down a few stairs on her way to the basement, she immediately threw herself at the heavy chest of guns her entire family had pawned and put together since it'd all started. Revolvers, semiautomatics, shotguns, rifles, even a couple old muskets her Grandpa had had hanging on the wall which were surprisingly still operative. After sliding in as much ammo into the chest as she could, she pushed it across the smooth basement floor with as much force as she could muster. When she realized there was no way she could ever get the chest up the basement stairs by herself, she called Carol's name from the top of her lungs. She offhandedly realized how scratchy her voice was from those many weeks she had gone without really using it.

Carol appeared on the landing of the basement stairs. Her eyes went wider then May had ever seen eyes go—when was the last time she'd seen a well-stocked gun supply? May wanted to smugly smile at her impressive resources, but she refocused quickly and gestured for Carol to come and drag the other side of the chest up the stairs. It took a great deal of time, but eventually they both got the chest in the back of May's old truck.

"Now go out back and keep on them peaches. I'm almost done."

While Carol picked, May swept up all the medical supplies in the house along with the herbs she kept out by the back porch. Carol slid the last cart of peaches and figs in the back of May's truck and May stood in her bedroom, looking at the unfolded, white-linen bed she had slept in since her mama lugged her and Grace East from Louisiana to her mama's brother's house. She looked at the bedside table—to the dirty, although framed, picture of her and Grace. They were only kids then; it was taken by her daddy when he was still around. Their Aunt Helen had been sweet enough to keep the picture and put it in a pretty opalescent frame.

May took the patched-up bag which she had been using as a makeshift suitcase for the past few months and poured all of its contents out. She took the picture from its glittery frame and shoved it in the bottom of her bag before stuffing in a pair of jeans, two shirts, four assorted pairs of undergarments, and one pair of shorts. The dirty old iPod on top of her dresser had been too much of an investment to leave behind—she'd bought it for herself on her twenty-third birthday after coughing up as much change as she could for a month. It was all she'd gotten that year besides a card from Grace. She stuffed the iPod in her pocket with some crumby earphones before leaving the bedroom.

May met Carol outside, who had a new layer of sweat gathering on her silver hairline. "Take your car and follow me, alright?"

Carol nodded; May was satisfied with how compliant the woman could be in such a pressing situation. In that rusted hunter green truck, May took the skinny dirt road that traveled South from her house and in a direction away from which the Dead were headed. She kept an eye on Carol in her rearview mirror and watched the little, white house she'd come to call her home in the past few months fade away into the rolling, green hills—just another part of her past that blew away in the passing wind.

* * *

 _Several weeks later._

May was glad to have that gut-covered poncho off of her, as the scent was close to pushing her over the edge of upchuck. She was tough as nails after all she'd been through, but she was still unbelievably sensitive to strong scents. They sent her hurling more often than not.

She worked at the smudges of blood on her arms and her chest—ranging from seal brown to vermillion. She didn't know what was Dead blood, what was human, what was her's… It all wrapped around her shoulders like a giant patchwork quilt of varying shades of red.

Carol's pace quickened as she deftly jumped over a jumble of roots braiding into moss and soil. May sighed at the sudden change in speed and tried to predict the direction the older woman was heading in, but her efforts were futile. Carol was chasing after something and May had no idea what. Though, she didn't bother asking—she just followed.

As they weaved through the groves of trees, May saw a group of figures in the distance. She knew who they must have been based on Carol's excited sprinting towards them. As May began to take a more leisurely pace, she watched a young man take Carol in his arms and hold her. He lifted her several inches off the ground with his golden, hardened arms and his long-haired head buried in her shoulder. Carol said she was closest with a man named Daryl; May figured that was him.

Nearly every one took Carol in their dirtied, shining arms. She was beloved—May could see, so she left the moment to her older friend. Behind the scattered trees May's hair shined in the sunlight as red as a wild corn poppy and she stood just as small and withdrawn as that poppy before its June bloom.

A few of the group members took note of May's presence, even the man who held Carol's eyes flickered to her shortly, curious about the brightly-colored young lady standing little and covered in blood.

"You did all this, Carol?" A man in a Sherpa jacket asked. His words seemed didn't seemed tangled despite the wild gray beard on his face that May figured most would loose their speech in.

Carol turned to May, her eyes terrifically blue and looking like the tops of ponds which reflected the rest of the world. "It was mostly her idea. You all owe her your life."

"Who are you?" The man with the beard—the identifiable leader—asked her. Despite what she had done for them all, his eyes were untrusting still. This was Rick, May could tell. He was tall and broad and hard-eyed, but he did not look as strong as Daryl, who took discreet steps in front of Carol to protect her from whatever dangers May apparently posed.

"May," she replied simply.

"I was being chased by more than a hundred infected Walkers. May took all her supplies and left her house behind. She could have told me to keep driving, but she left with me and took all of her supplies for us both. She helped Tyreese and I get here. She knew about Terminus, she told me how to bring it down so I could save you. May did all of this."

Rick came several steps closer, nodding thankfully. "How many Walkers have you killed?"

May couldn't help but let a smile tickle the corner of her lips. Who counted that nowadays? Were they even worth counting? "I don't count that."

"How many people have you killed?"

May didn't smile that time. She kept her eyes on Rick and wondered what would inspire a person these days to dare ask a question like that. May's sternum caved in on her and the prick of abhorrence sent her blood racing at a much faster pace through her body. "That ain't got nothin' to do with you."

"It does," Rick clarified calmly. Carol stepped in, shorter than May and Rick both but still serving as a relatively effective barrier.

"Rick, could we hold off the questions with May? She saved my life and all of yours' too, don't you think that's enough to know she's trustworthy?"

"Our policy applies to all, Carol. If she plans on traveling with us, she'll answer the questions."

May resorted to the back of her heels. She should run, she knew. She didn't have any business with anyone besides herself. All of her companions were gone—she only could trust herself. "Who said anythin' about traveling with y'all?"

Truth be told, Carol _had_ invited May to join the group she had been sent away from. Without the house, May had no reason to decline this invitation; she'd accepted. But now, seeing the type of people that made up Carol's group… She wanted to forget all about it.

"No, _no…_ Rick!" Carol interjected, jabbing a finger towards his face. "She saved everyone here… Judith, Mika, and Lizzie included! You don't shoo someone like that away!"

"I'm not shooing her away, I—"

"I'll go, Carol," May stated.

"You won't!" Carol latched onto her new companion by the wrist and kept her close. "If you make it so May can't stay here, Rick, then you're making it so I can't stay here."

Suddenly Daryl stepped in, shoulders square and face close to Rick's. May was faced with his leather-clad back and the swirling, black tattoo that peaked out from the ragged armholes of his vest. She could nearly feel the heat emanating from his skin. He was warm—not like any star or the sun, but like the burning coals left in an expired fire that hid between the dark rocks and charred logs.

"Rick, we'll finish it later," he said adamantly. Rick's eyes grew wider to a very slight degree, a hardly detectable indicator that Daryl rarely told Rick what to do. His voice was rough although gentle, not hinting at any sternness in his command, only that it must be met.

Rick was momentarily quiet, but he eventually nodded. May saw Carol's freckled hand wrap around Daryl's delineated bicep in a tacit thank-you.

They were moving before May could process what exactly they were moving towards. When they reached a lackluster log cabin where Tyreese and Judith were, they scooped them along after a moment of reunification then moved on. As May walked alone some place in the heart of the group, she was sweltering and left in an uncomfortable bubble that seemed to isolate her from everyone else there. She decided to put in earphones and lay her reaction to potential dangers on the backs of those before her.

They carried on for hours, panting and moving in the silence of the Georgian forest. When the sun left the sky they made camp by a quiet stream, in which Carol, Tyreese, and May filled cans and jars with milky water. That night, Carol and Daryl took first shift. Halfway through the night when their shifts were over, Daryl offered to take the shift of a girl named Tara. She worried for his exhaustion, but he assured her he was well-rested enough to stay up the entire night. Reluctantly, she agreed and let him take watch for the second half of the night. May wondered if his offer was a response to the watch schedule—in which Tara and May would take the second night shift. Perhaps he didn't trust May with anyone besides himself.

They didn't speak really, only when he asked small questions about her time with Carol. May noted how important Carol was to him, which she admired. A common understanding thrived between Daryl and May, that which was the understanding of Carol as a key figure to their existences. It was a sort of common ground between them.

Not only did it strike admiration in May but also inquiry—what was Carol to Daryl, specifically? Their embrace the day before could possibly have been amorous, but she was a little old for him. However, in times like these that didn't seem to be an important factor.

Between Daryl's few short queries, the two sat in silence. Although they were essentially strangers, there was an ease in the silence. May doubted Daryl felt similarly, as his posture was eternally rigid and ready, but she enjoyed the comfort in their quietness. All too often did May feel pressured to communicate with someone, but Daryl made no effort to pressure her in this way. Perhaps he liked the silence like she did.

"'Ere was somethin' out there movin' earlier. Thought it was the wind, probably was, but…" he shrugged as he spoke. When he interrupted the aforementioned silence, it wasn't disruptive. It was more like a leaf blowing through a constant wind—gentle and coming in quietly.

May nodded, deciding not to respond. Daryl pursed his lips in unfamiliarity in her lack of response. Anyone else in the group would have attempted to carry on a conversation with him after his comment, but not her.

The next morning, they went on in their journey. It was painfully repetitive of their previous day's traveling: May listened to music, Rick led the way, they all sweat to no end. At one point Rick spoke to Daryl and ordered him away for what Carol later explained to May was a hunt. May was the only one who didn't pull a gun on Daryl when he returned with a string of squirrel tied to his pack several hours after he had left.

"We surrender," he held up his hands mockingly.

Relief flooded the faces of those who had thrown themselves up in arms.

They kept on that long journey north. Rick whistled at one point, pulling a burly man named Abraham to the side after ordering them all to tighten up their formation. Subtly, May paused her music and eavesdropped in on their conversation.

"Ready to get some concrete under your feet?" Abraham asked. May observed the soil brown his originally-beige undershirt had been stained to.

"I think it's time," Rick replied.

"That is sweet music to my ears, Officer," he sighed with a hot breath. "Take the next road we come to, try to get back goin' north 'til we find a vehicle?"

"Actually, Carol told me her and May left two cars just outside Macon on 74. We'll be lucky if they're still there, but if they aren't there'll be plenty more cars there, I bet," Rick explained. "Good?"

"Good."

With her earphones no longer playing in her ears, May could focus on her surroundings to a more severe degree. And expectedly she smelled the Dead near—and not their 'remains' but their moving 'corpses'. Before she acted on this the rush of sensation, she contemplated the issue that lay within updated post-apocalyptic vernacular.

She turned right—out of the group. The air that combed through the trees blew from the East. Carol was the first to notice May's diversion and she cut herself out of the line of people, meeting May just off the beaten path.

"What is it?"

"They're near," she answered. Just with her words, the alarm seemed to blare. Cries and screams for help came from the East.

The group merged into one living being—most of them being the muscle, the beating heart, the blood, but Rick the brain. He held up his hand and halted the rest of the body from moving on instinct. But Carl—his son, who was also a part of him and a part of the brain—was his morality. And when Carl questioned his father for his hesitation in saving a life, Rick's morality assumed the wheel of the brain's functions.

"Come on!" Carl urged, pulling his father's hand. With a grind of his teeth, Rick began to run in the direction from which screams came. The brain told the rest of the body to follow.

Five of the Dead scraped their decomposing hands against a boulder which served as a pedestal to a dark-skinned man in a formal, black outfit. They had a firm grip on his ankle, which he flailed around to no avail. A bullet belonging to Carl's gun ripped through the air and into one of the Dead's head. A woman May had yet to meet jammed the stock of her firearm into one of their heads and Rick crushed a Dead skull against the wall of the rock with a sharp tug. While Carol sank a dagger into one of the Dead's occipital lobes, May circled the rock for the fifth. Its swaggering walk was frighteningly lifelike and its blonde beard was still present, though matted with blood. It sauntered towards May, so she wrapped her fingers around the push dagger in her belt and sunk it into the space between the base of the skull and the first vertebra, letting the body crumble before her.

As the Dead fell, May looked up to see Daryl before her, having just rounded the boulder. His crossbow was poised and it seemed as though she'd stolen his target.

When the commotion quelled, she looked up to the man at the top of the boulder. He took heavy breaths of liberation and had highly dismayed, dark eyes. May caught the white rectangle of a clerical collar at the man's neck—contrasting greatly with his deep brown complexion and black vestments.

A surge of gratitude quickened the thump of her heart. _A priest_. May hadn't attended church since it happened, although she prayed every night and read the Scriptures as often as she could. The weight of her spirituality had been in decline through the months prior and she was afraid its skeletal frame would crumble under the weight of the current status of the world. But God had granted her with a priest and her spirit would once again be nourished.

She pushed through Rick and Carl and held a hand to the priest. He was vacillating in the trembling aftermath of the attack, but he was reassured by the glitter of the golden crucifix pendant wrapped tightly around May's neck. He took her hand and let her assist him in lowering him to the ground. A warm joy sat in his eyes when he reached the ground.

"How rarely I see people of God nowadays," he immediately said—his voice was tremulous. "God bless you."

May smiled minutely but genuinely. She would speak to him later—those she traveled with seemed so skeptical she knew they would mock her for her faith if she revealed its depth before them.

As a tinge of green surfaced beneath the priest's skin, his jaw seemed to fill grotesquely.

"You okay?" Asked Rick.

The priest held up his index finger before bending over and hurling. "Sorry," he apologized breathily when he was done spitting up his last meal.

* * *

 **Hello everyone! So this is the start of my latest fanfiction...**


	2. Those Sleeping in the Dust of the Earth

**Here it is for you, the second chapter! ( : Enjoy! & Please review, favorite, follow, and most importantly... Read!**

* * *

May stood in line quietly as everyone chattered around her. They scooped spoonfuls of slimy beans and gooey vegetables onto their plates like they were the chefs of a gourmet meal. She figured she couldn't perceive the scene as it was—she'd been eating well since she'd gotten to her uncle's house.

May felt warm inside when she watched Judith reach for her father as she sat in his arms. She cooed and he played along, bouncing her on the top of his knees. She was still slightly ticked by their earlier encounter, but she was mesmerized by the preservation of ordinary humanity the father and daughter seemed to embody.

A hip hit May's and she was shaken out of her daze. She looked at the culprit and met Carol's eyes. "Have a crush?"

May snorted, emptying a glob of beans from the communal spoon back into the pot. "Judith's funny, you know… She could grow up an' never know any this shit happened."

"I don't know about that," Carol laughed lightly. "Her generation is going to be the one picking up the pieces."

May's lips curled upwards with a small hope and she moved on to the pile of mushy celery in the subsequent bowl. "Y'all're actin' like you're eatin' like kings tonight."

When May had her bowl filled meagerly, she turned and looked for the best place to sit and eat. She would have first thought of sitting with Carol, but she had seen her sitting with Daryl earlier and May figured Daryl wouldn't want some stranger interrupting their meal with an uncomfortable presence. So May looked to the priest, Gabriel, who appeared to be slightly disturbed and severely tormented with his back to the altar. When May crouched her knees cracked, drawing Father Gabriel's attention.

"Hello May," he welcomed her warmly.

"Father," she nodded, acknowledging him with the respect a priest deserved, but that which the rest of the group lacked.

"You know, you are the only one who is kind to me of your entire group," he commented. "They have all lost their way, besides you."

May smiled. "E'eryone is so afraid that they've lost their faith in the Lord, an' I could'a too. He gives us the strength to face the world we do today, but it's hard to remember that nowadays."

"For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock. And now my head shall be lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord," Gabriel quoted the verse from Psalms. His voice peaked with hope like the sun looks out from behind dark clouds. His voice promised safety and prosperity, and May felt the Lord was close to her—closer than He had been in a long time.

"Thank you," she said weakly, her voice broken by the revivification of her desire to live. Her eyes were wet and glinting with tears like glass reflecting rain.

The sound of the feast seemed to overwhelm their conversation, so they ate quietly with their minds to themselves until Abraham stood up with a dripping glass of wine in his hand. In the candlelight and beneath the burgundy beams of the church, Abraham looked like a Medieval figure hovering above the faint orange lights. The wine seemed as though blood dripping from a crystal goblet.

"I'd like to propose a toast!" He announced, and with that the room grew silent. "I look around this room and I see survivors. Each and e'ery one of you has earned that title. T' the survivors!" He raised the chalice, and so did everyone else in the room. They cheered buoyantly, like they had won their lives when really they had just won a single day.

"Is that all you want'a be?" Abraham asked, sending the room into a sound silence again. "Wake up in the mornin', fight undead pricks, forage for food, go t' sleep at night with two eyes open, rinse, an' repeat? 'Cause you can do that. I mean you got the strength, you got the skill… Thing is, for you people—for what you _can_ do, that's just surrender. Now we get Eugene to Washington and he will make the Dead die and the living will have this world again. And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

Judith cooed in the quiet atmosphere and Rick pulled her to his chest.

"Eugene, what's in D.C.?" Abraham asked.

May had heard some about this master plan of Eugene's in Washington, D.C. from Carol, Rick, and Maggie. But, she'd thought long and hard about it and wondered how exactly the entire world could be saved by one man once he got to one city? Eugene was clearly above average intelligence, but could he rescue the world from ultimate peril?

"Infrastructure to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude. That means food, fuel, refuge… Restart."

His voice was like that of a machine or a drone. Spitting out silver information whenever he was asked to.

"However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you been since this whole thing started. Come with us; save the world for that little one," Abraham spoke, his eyes trained on Judith in her pale pink dress with her fair hair. "Save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there who don't got nothin' left to do except survive."

The room fell silent until another coo left Judith's mouth. "What was that?" Rick asked her. "I think she knows what's goin' on. She's in; if she's in, I'm in. We're in."

May was careful not to allow sticks under each fall of her foot—in fear that the sound would alert Carol that she was, in fact, being followed. Perhaps May could reveal herself to Carol, but then she'd distract Carol from whatever reason she was creeping out in the deep, dark woods for. When they reached the road, May kept herself in the foliage as she watched Carol tamper with a jump-starter she'd retrieved from the trunk of a car.

Not a few feet behind her, May heard a crack underfoot—one similar to that which she had been afraid of Carol hearing. She heard not the moaning of the Dead, and therefore became more petrified. Nowadays, humans were often worse than the Dead. For instance, the horrific humans who had inhabited Terminus before it crumbled to the ground.

May retrieved the revolver tucked in her belt and pointed it in the direction of her attacker in one fast, sweeping motion. Carol's attention was drawn when May pulled back the hammer and cocked the revolver. Soon enough, the beam of a flashlight shined on May and he who she had her revolver aimed at. It was Daryl, holding his crossbow in firing position on his shoulder.

Carol couldn't help but smile to herself. Ever since she first met May she knew the girl would wind up in Daryl's life one way or another. May was withdrawn in the same way Daryl was, but she clung to an inexplicable hope that Daryl had spent all his life searching for. They were meant to be close, Carol knew, but it would take a while for them to adjust to such a closeness.

"My two little shadows," Carol grinned. Both Daryl and May lowered their weapons and walked out into the road to meet Carol.

The torn-up rubber of Daryl's boot met the pavement and the moon cast light onto his skin. "What're you doin'?" He asked Carol.

May walked quietly over to the car Carol had been toying with before her and Daryl's announced arrivals. She pressed her sore back against the side of the car and faced the moon. She often tried to stop herself and give herself the time to bathe in the nature of her God-given world. With imaginary lines she traced figures between the constellations.

"I don't know," Carol answered after a moment, her voice as fragile as porcelain.

Carol turned to May, watching how the rich redness of her hair transformed to rose-gold in the moonlight. She looked like she was made of the most precious gems—even in her torn garb and dirtied skin.

"Come on," Daryl gestured back to the woods with a tilt of his head. His direction was forgotten, however, when the sound of an engine came from the highway off which the road they stood on turned. He raced past May and watched the car as it swam by them at a leisurely speed—though still too fast to follow on foot. Daryl immediately swept his crossbow off the ground and used it to knock out the taillights. The pieces of plastic clattered as it hit the ground.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked urgently. "What are you doing?!"

"They got Beth!" He exclaimed shortly. Once both taillights were effectively knocked out, Daryl urged them all to get into the old sedan, pushing the three of them in the first row. May sat in the middle—shoulder-to-shoulder with Daryl and Carol quite uncomfortably.

Carol and Daryl began to talk about a girl named Beth. Daryl seemed to speak quite fondly of her, which made May begin to think Daryl might have had some two-timing, hardly-discernible streak. Carol didn't seem envious, which further pushed away May's blurry credence that the two were in a relationship.

"So Beth is Maggie's sister?" May asked, looking out Carol's window. She didn't want her eyes nearing Daryl—she was too besotted with the way he refused to grip the wheel with his hand and instead steer with only his forearm lying on the top of the wheel to look at him.

"Yes," Carol answered. "We first met the whole family at their farm a while back. There was originally Hershel, the girls' father, and Otis and Patricia, who were farmhands. Otis and Patricia didn't last long, but Hershel certainly did. I'd wish you could've met him, May. You would've liked him."

May smiled halfheartedly. She didn't like talking about what could've been; especially when death was the reason for the 'could' transforming into the 'could have'. "How old's Beth?"

"Seventeen. Turnin' eighteen soon."

"I 'member when I was seventeen," she laughed lightly to herself. "I was waitin' tables at this ol' honky-tonk where e'eryone in the town'd come to get drunk e'ery Friday and Saturday. I can't imagine bein' where she is now. All'd I care 'bout then was makin' big tips," she chuckled.

"The world's a different place," Carol smiled understandingly.

A moment of silence passed before Daryl announced calmly: "Rick's goin' to wonder where we went. Tank's runnin' low."

"We can end this quick, just run him off the road," Carol told him.

"Nah, we're good for a bit."

"If they're holding her somewhere we can just get it out of the driver."

"Yeah, but if he don't talk we're back to square one," Daryl said. "Right now we got the advantage. We'll find out who they are and what they do… See what we got to do to get 'er back."

Carol pursed her lips, obviously not entirely on the same page as Daryl but figuring he wouldn't budge. May's eyes followed the shaded highway signs and leaned forward, looking around.

"They're headed north. To I-85," she commented. Daryl nodded in response. May kept leant forward as she saw the skyline of Atlanta grow like a sponge absorbing water. It was dark and dilapidated.

"What, you ain't never seen Atlanta 'fore?" Daryl asked her. May looked back at him and caught his eyes shortly before slumping back in the seat.

"I been t' Atlanta," she rolled her eyes. "I just ain't seen a city since it happened. An' this one don't look too hot."

"You can say that again," Carol agreed under her breath.

The city slid towards them, getting progressively larger like it sat on a saucer that flew for their faces. The highway was cracked in its foundation and covered with mosses and litter, but they still passed down the long, straight expressway unhindered, like a ghost in the shadows following the car before them, with its identifiable white-cross windows. The route the car they followed took was relatively clear of Walkers, but it tangled in with the smaller streets of the crust of Atlanta, making it necessary to augment the space between Daryl, Carol, and May, and the white-cross car. When the car stopped, Daryl was careful to park in the shadows—where they would not be seen. A few of the Dead roamed around the area, but not enough to worry about.

For at least five minutes, the car in front of them stayed put. Its drivers were obviously still present, but they were not leaving the car. May looked around; she couldn't see any nearby herds that would prevent them from getting out of the car, nor were there any other cars approaching. She uneasily began to consider the car's drivers had seen them.

"What the hell's he waitin' for?" Daryl asked mindlessly. He reached for the keys to turn off the engine, and just as he did the white-cross car's engine turned off. Its glowing taillights that seemed to stick out in the dark like the red eyes of the scary wolves in forests in the movies faded; the wolf closed its eyes.

May's fingers wrapped around the revolver that was suddenly in her lap. Daryl looked at her small hands; they were messily pared at the nails and painted with numerous slender red cuts and scabs. He figured they could be the hands of a klutz or a Nervous Nelly, but by the firmness in her grip and the steadiness of her fingers, Daryl could tell she'd gotten those superficial injuries the same way he'd gotten the nicks on his arms and the scrapes on his hands. They were both fighters. They weren't afraid to get their hands dirty and maybe even a little bloody.

"There's two of 'em," she mentioned in a low voice. Daryl cast his eyes back to the windshield, watching as someone got out of the passenger seat of the car.

"That a police officer?" Carol asked in an utterly confused voice.

They sat in silence, waiting to see something more. Somehow, none of them were aware of how quiet the scene had become. Their lungs locked in air and they didn't even seem to be breathing.

Then suddenly a purpling hand slammed up on the window with a slap. Carol, with the Walker at her window, jolted, as did May and Daryl. Carol's hand flew to her chest and she rolled her eyes while a small and short-lived smile appeared on Daryl's lips.

As the Walker repeatedly slammed whatever it could against Carol's window, the police person came back outside with a bike, throwing it into the street near the car. The person lugged around litter and some other discarded objects before heading back to the car. However, they became distracted by the sound of the Dead knocking on Carol's window. After waiting momentarily, the person took slow steps towards the car and hopped back in. Soon enough the wolf's red eyes were open again and turning down the street on which the police officer had thrown the bike.

When the white-cross car was gone, Daryl reached for the keys again. He turned on the engine but it only sputtered. He kept trying with the keys in vain, only to give up. "Shit! Tank's tapped," he cursed. He looked over to Carol and May with his left hand gripping the wheel. "They'd've taken the bypass and they didn't. They must be holed up in the city someplace."

May pushed herself up higher in her seat and leaned forward, looking out the windshield with squinted eyes. In the faraway darkness which the white-cross car had parked just in front of, the moon cast baby rays onto an oncoming herd which Daryl and Carol had apparently yet to see.

"Shit," she swore. She released one hand from her tight grip on her revolver and pointed to the herd—only few from the first line could be seen, but Daryl and Carol both immediately knew what was coming for them.

"We got'a move. Find someplace to hole up 'til sunlight," Daryl said and May nodded.

"I know a place just a couple of blocks from here," Carol said. "We can make it."

As Carol rolled the window down a few inches, she gestured to May who already had a knife in her hand. Daryl recognized it as a U.S. Military bayonet, and he found himself wondering how she would have obtained it.

May penetrated the drooping eyeball of the Walker and it slid right off her blade. She pulled her hand back into the car and wiped the contents of the Dead's head on her pant leg, staining it burgundy. Carol kicked open the door and jumped out of the car, May followed closely behind. Daryl appeared next to them shortly and they began to run down the sidewalk. May continually looked back, gauging the space between them and the herd. They were set in those matters, but she had no doubt they would meet other obstacles on the journey.

Expectedly, as they rounded their first corner, about a dozen of the Dead turned towards them at the sound of commotion. Trudging forward, they came closer and closer until Daryl, Carol, and May began taking each out one-by-one. To Daryl's surprise, May took out the most of the three of them. She was fast, and somehow he had not yet noticed just how fast. Most of these Walkers she took out with that handy little push dagger. He had to get one of those, he thought.

The trip was longer than Carol had made it sound, but they arrived in decent shape. Carol led them to the entrance, which Daryl would have to chip away at until the plank of wood which boarded it up fell. The Dead were still on their trail, and they would build up unless someone started taking them out. Carol and May both seemed willing to take this position, but with one simple touch to Carol's shoulder, May indicated that she would be doing it alone. Carol had admired May for that quality since she first met her almost a month and a half ago—May could have entire conversations through simple gestures and individual touches.

May didn't go after the Dead, she just waited until each came to her. When they did, she would quietly slip her push dagger into what remained of their brain from the underside of their mandibles.

Daryl appreciated how he didn't hear a peep of complaint leave her mouth as he chipped away at the wooden plank; it was taking longer than he'd expected. Even Carol may have complained, or simply asked if he was almost done.

"Almost there," he said under his breath, and Carol announced it to May. Finally, May heard the wood crack and fall to the concrete foundation Carol and Daryl stood on. She stabbed the nearest Walker in the brain before speeding off to slip into the building Carol had led them to. As May went inside, Daryl waited at the door for Carol to come in, but she stood there with wide eyes as she tried to take in the status of the looming Dead at that very moment. The herd was coming.

"Come on!" May shouted, and with this Carol complied.

The building was a center for victims of domestic abuse, and suddenly May was not so surprised why Carol was aware this place existed. The older woman had mentioned bits and pieces of her life before it happened, and May had never pried, but she had gotten the gist. What pushed May further from ease was the feeling she was getting from Daryl. He didn't seem comfortable in the place, but not in the way she would expect a man to be in a domestic abuse center. He seemed uncomfortable in the way a poorer person is when they look at the happy lives of those within the higher socioeconomic brackets. He was uncomfortable because he was… envious.

There was something about Daryl that rang an alarm in May's head, but she truly couldn't yet tell why. She knew it was because of his uncommunicative tendencies and his unfailing street-smarts, but she didn't know why that set off so many bells in her head. So she just ignored it.

The skeletal corpse of an older woman laid near the front office of the abuse center. The bullet at her temple and the scattered cerebral matter across the wall behind her suggested she'd taken her life. With a terribly insufficient amount of respect for the brave woman, May swept up the keys that spilled from the pocket of the woman's cardigan.

On a door titled "Service Center", May used the keys and let the three of them in to a small, marble-walled office. Daryl flickered his flashlight around the place, looking here and there. "You used to work here or something?" He asked.

She hesitated in her response: "Or something."

May began to push the long desk in the room over the door through which they'd entered. Daryl leant in a hand to help, but soon realized she didn't really need his help. She was small—her arms as thin as wire and the feminine curves of a woman's body hardly on hers—but that little meat that covered her bones seemed to be mostly muscle. Daryl was surprised at how sylphlike she looked, that of which so sharply contrasted with the strength she exerted.

May redirected her attention to the door opposite that which they'd passed through earlier and saw Carol fumbling with its knob. Perhaps May was distracted by Daryl's hollowed-out cheeks when he held the flashlight between his lips, and the profound bone structure that was suddenly revealed, because when Carol looked at her expectedly it took her a few moments to capture May's attention.

"Oh," May muttered, throwing Carol the keys. As Carol slid the fitting key into the lock, she couldn't help but let a small smile ghost the corners of her lips.

Daryl and May walked on silent feet behind Carol as she led them, seemingly knowing her way around the place well. She eventually brought them to a bedroom with a bunkbed. "What's this?"

"It's temporary housing," Carol answered. Apparently Daryl hadn't been aware of the exact function of a domestic abuse center, which was odd considering how affected he'd initially seemed by it. Maybe she had imagined it all, she figured.

May laid her revolver on the desk and noticed Daryl's flashlight hovered all too long on a thin book that rested on the desk beside the bunkbed: _Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse: Psychotherapy for the Interrupted Life_. "You came here?" He asked.

"We didn't stay," Carol said as she lifted her long A4 rifle from her neck and rested it against the wall.

"I'll take the floor," May said, opening up the drawers in the desk hoping to find a folded blanket or something of that ilk.

"Don't worry, I got it," Daryl shook his head.

"No, I'll take first watch. You two both get some rest in the beds," Carol clarified. She made the statement with a definite air, similar to that which an older family member can hold when telling the younger members what to do.

Regardless, May argued. "Locked up tight, 'ere. Don't need no one on watch."

"I know we don't need to, but I don't mind. I'll take first watch."

"Suit yourself," Daryl said as he shrugged off his leather jacket. He turned around and looked at the bottom bunk—hot pink duvet and all. He opened his mouth but found himself interrupted.

"I'll take top bunk," May said with a very small and very sneaky smile on her lips. "Bottom looks more your style anyway."

May was somehow defeated when she failed to pull even a semblance of a smirk out of him. She bit the inside of her lips as she often did when she felt embarrassed or let-down.

As she removed all her weapons from her person, placing most on the ground and desk but tucking some up in the bed, Carol turned away from the small, rectangular window she looked out of. "You said we get to start over," she said. "Did you?"

May looked at Carol for an explanation to her vague statement and question, but she found her eyes were on Daryl. Clearly, Carol was alluding to an earlier conversation Daryl and Carol had and, thus, did not involve her.

Daryl glanced at May before responding, noticing how she paused as she cleaned and put away her weapons. He wondered why Carol would bring up the conversation in front of May, as it wasn't just rather personal for Carol but also Daryl. However, he figured maybe May was just so mindful of others' business anything could be said in front of her and she'd understand she wasn't in the place to comment on it. He'd never really realized he liked that quality in people until he realized how May just kept on moving, contrary to the intimate conversation that was blooming.

Daryl paused, still a little wary of her presence despite his previous thoughts. "I'm tryin'," he stated. He looked skeptically at May again, who had slid onto the floor and was rubbing the stains of dried viscera from her bayonet with a ruddied rag. "Why don't you say what's really on your mind?"

"I don't think we get to save people anymore."

May paused in her cleaning of her blade and this did not go unnoticed by Daryl. However, Carol didn't need to look at May to know that she had been affected by what she'd said.

All May could think about was all the people she wanted to save. And yet these were the same people whose blood spilt from the wounds she had designed and the same people whose blood had been crusted under her fingernails for weeks until she finally bit her fingernails so deep and hard her own blood began to swell in vermillion dewdrops.

But this statement didn't make sense to Daryl, as here they were out in the city trying to save Beth. "Then why're you here?"

"I'm trying."

May felt a brutish and ironic chuckle rise in her stomach, but she did not let it leave her mouth. _I had tried too,_ she thought. _It's not worth your time._

Carol walked over to sit next to Daryl on the pink bed and she laid down with her hand behind her head. May realized there was no use at getting comfortable just then, because a nearly silent sound rattled in her ears. She stood up quickly, causing Daryl and Carol to stand too.

"What is it?" He asked. Before she could answer, there was a bang that echoed from the hall their room was attached to. May took only her army bayonet into the hallway, heading in the direction of the banging. Daryl was close to her soon, his crossbow poised near her head, and Carol crept along behind them. As they reached the end of the hall, Daryl handed May the flashlight and she aimed it towards the opaque glass doors that closed off several small rooms. Soon enough, the body of a Walker was pressed against the glass. Daryl sighed, releasing the posture with which he held the crossbow. Seconds after the walker threw itself at the door, another appeared pressed against the next glass door down. Hauntingly, however, this Walker was small and dressed in a frock. It was just a little girl.

And all May could think about was Kathy, wearing her little Communion dress with her hair curled into auburn ringlets. And the way May had to blot the infectious sweat from the little girl's pale forehead and how she had to bury her on her tenth birthday.

Carol leaned for the handle on the first door, preparing herself with a knife in hand.

"Stop," May said in a voice that clearly said the issue was not up for negotiation.

Daryl was supposed to take the second shift, but when Carol had returned, May had asked her if she could take it from him. They left him asleep on the bottom bunk and Carol switched places with May. When Daryl woke up early by a few minutes, he was flustered as he was supposed to be woken up halfway through the night. He was ready to yell at someone, but his heartbeat gradually slowed as he noticed a tunnel of smoke swirled up into the sky like a miniature tornado. Worried that there was a fire, Daryl jumped out of bed and ran out of the room, down the hall to the door that led out onto the roof. He opened it and stepped out quickly, but he slowed when he saw May sitting right not to the fire.

Two blackened bodies were discernible at the heart of the fire, and the scent of burning flesh stirred his stomach but he pushed away the sensation. The gravel crunched quietly beneath his feet as he walked out to the origin of the smoke at a much slower rate than he had initially planned.

May heard him, but she did not halt her reading from the small and worn book in her hands: "At that time there shall arise Michael, the great prince, guardian of your people; It shall be a time unsurpassed in distress since nations began until that time. At that time your people shall escape, everyone who is found written in the book. Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake; some shall live forever, others shall be an everlasting horror and disgrace. But the wise shall shine brightly like the splendor of the firmament, and those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever."

Daryl couldn't even remember the last time anyone had given enough of a shit to give someone a funeral. Let alone give a Walker a funeral.

But truth be told, Daryl hadn't really minded that Carol and May had let him sleep a whole night. He'd been so angry because he'd planned to do the same thing as May.

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 **Taa-daa! ( : Hope you enjoyed! Maybe when this starts taking off I can do like a Question of the Post thing... ( : Anyways, please comment/review, there's nothing I love more than seeing what you guys have to say.**


	3. Skeletal Shower

**The third chapter! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as I do... I had a blast writing it. Thank you to all that have read and favorited, etc. It is very much appreciated. Anyway, enjoy!**

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"They sort'a look like caterpillars," May said under her breath as she watched the Dead squirm in their zipped-up sleeping bags. They were littered across the floor, writhing against the sticky polyester. Carol let loose a chuckle at May's comment, but Daryl simply grunted—clearly unamused by her remark.

To try and make up for it, May walked towards the two closest to her and impaled their heads with her bayonet. While Carol went to stab the third, Daryl bent down to unzip May's first victim as May did the same with her second. She found a boot knife and a pack of stale Lucky Strikes. May slid the knife into one of her worn red cowboy boots and slid the cigarettes into her back pocket. Daryl caught sight of the pack as she put it away and looked at her angrily.

"'Course, I get the Walker that ain't carrying a pack of cigs on 'im," he huffed, pushing past her as a small and devious smile leapt onto her lips. The closest of the two tents began to move like a wobbling pyramid of jelly. The identifiable anthem of the Dead groaned from inside the tent and Daryl stood up, looked at the tent through the dark hair which hung over his eyes. Whenever May really looked at it—in all its greasy glory—she instantly felt her chest swell with a motherly instinct the young woman would often get. She didn't want to _adopt_ Daryl, she just wanted to push the hair from his eyes and wash it for him.

"Some days I don't know what the hell to think," Daryl muttered as he pulled an arrow from the head of a Walker.

Ash blackened the suddenly crooked streets and the trees that once bloomed in the humid heat of Atlanta were merely the skeletons of what they once were. At least a foot-tall cloud of soot wafted through the streets and turned the corners as quickly as a businessman late for his nine o'clock meeting. It looked like someone had taken a torch to the concrete jungle; burned it down with one single blow. Smudges of cinder were wiped across the sidewalks and up against the tall sides of skyscrapers. May likened the view from the twentieth-floor office to Kathy's charcoal sketches of fantastical cities, where elves grew from trees like apples and gardens grew up the sides of buildings.

"How did we get here?" Carol asked in a dull tone, her voice bereft of the lilt of inquiry.

After a moment of silence, Daryl agreed with a rumble. The tips of May's fingers subconsciously toyed with the small, golden cross that laid between her collarbones. "We just did," Daryl said.

Carol's eyes meekly fluttered over to May's moving hand before moving back to the window, squinting. "How do you still live with that around your neck?" She asked May quietly. "With this? With what happened with Mika and Lizzie?"

Carol sounded like a child trying to understand why we needed air in our lungs or why we didn't fall off the vertical sides of the earth. "I wouldn't be livin' if it wa'n't there."

"You think God's keepin' you alive? An' for this?" Daryl asked, gesturing to the grey world outside the window. Ever since May's enlightened outreach to Gabriel, Daryl had been wondering how on earth some bible thumper like her had survived. Any Christian would have offed themself by now, realizing what kind of place their "almighty God" had put them in. And yet, there was May, smiling at corrupt priests and holding that damned cross around her neck like it was what kept her alive—not guns, food, water, and shelter.

"What, you think I could keep myself alive?" She laughed through slightly wet eyes, looking back at him. "You think I could live with myself?"

Daryl's posture and thoughts softened at the faltering strength in her smile. It seemed so out of place, like she was forcing it onto her face. Daryl wasn't beginning to understand why on earth May would waste her time praying and clutching that cross, but maybe he understood a little better why she couldn't think she was living by just herself.

"We have the chance to start over, May," Carol offered. "We have to start over."

May didn't respond, she only looked out far into Atlanta with eyes as grey as the sky.

Daryl soon shifted in his shoes and leant forward until her forearm pressed against the glass and his eyes squinted beneath the makeshift awning. "You see something?" Carol asked him.

"I don't know," he mumbled, falling his hand away from the dirtied window. "Hand me that rifle," he said and she immediately took it off her person, handing it to him. He positioned the barrel in the right direction with an impressive steadiness and looked carefully through the scope. When he'd found what he was looking for, he pointed at something in the far distance through the window. "Look," he said as Carol squinted, looking through the scope.

"Been there a while," she commented. "Definitely one of them."

"Some kind of lead," May mentioned quietly, not really seeing what they were referring to except a small white dot crashed into the side of the freeway.

"We should fill up," Carol said, scaling the desk by the windows. As she began to fill up a canteen of water, May crouched and rifled through the drawers of the desk and Daryl stood still, focusing on a large and rather primitive-looking piece of art on the wall.

To the tinkling of the water splashing down in a slender stream to the metallic base of the canteen, May slowly leafed through disorganized stacks of paper. She passed by bills and opened letters until she came across a substantial amount of mouthwash. Opening her bags, she poured the miniature bottles in before closing that drawer and moving on to the next.

"You got a date?" She heard Carol ask, looking over the desk as May put the mouthwash in her bag.

"They're antiseptic," May smiled.

"Oh. I thought you were planning on kissing somebody," Carol said in dramatic voice. May liked how much of a mother she acted like sometimes, and almost always to nearly anyone. Carol waltzed over to Daryl as she took a sip of water from the filled canteen.

"What?" She asked Daryl as she looked at him questioningly. His eyes drifted across the canvas once again before he looked at her with an irritated frown.

"Bet some rich prick paid a lot'a money for this," he shook his head, taking a sip from the canteen she handed him. "Looks like a dog sat 'n paint, and wiped its ass all o'er the place," he said, dragging his hand into the air in the motion of the theoretical dog's bottom.

A concealed laugh broke from May's nose and Daryl looked at her with an unreadable expression, either he was irritated she'd been listening in on a conversation she really wasn't a part of or he wasn't expected to get a laugh out of anyone but was relatively satisfied that he did.

"Really? I kind of like it," Carol said.

Daryl scoffed, looking at her before taking another sip of water. "Stop."

May moved on to a cabinet against the wall and her heart dropped when she saw its contents. However, neither Daryl nor Carol seemed to notice her awe.

"I'm serious," Carol clarified. "You don't know me."

"Yep. You keep tellin' yourself that," Daryl replied. As he slung his crossbow over his arm and made way for the exit, he caught sight of the fire-headed girl looking up into the cabinets with wide eyes. She was relatively tall—taller than Carol and probably taller than Maggie—but she still had to look up to see exactly what was in the cabinets. Daryl walked over when he saw the sun reflect the crystal inside the cabinet.

He stood closely behind May, until the sound of him breathing could distract her from the glittering bottles of untouched liquor. "Damn."

As Daryl watched May's skinny hips slide through the crack between the padlock-sealed doors, he heard the cocking of a large gun. For a reason entirely unknown to him, the idea of May on the other side—the receiver of that preparation—made him angry. He didn't want Carol to pass through the gap before him, but she was already bent and ready to crawl to meet May on the other side, despite the telltale sign of loaded armory on the other side.

Daryl sighed as he stood up, seeing a kid on the other side with Carol's large rifle in his hands. The boy aimed it at him once Daryl was standing. "Lay down your crossbow," the boy ordered.

Daryl looked away disapprovingly. "You got some sack on you."

"Nobody has to get hurt, I just need weapons. So please, lay down your crossbow."

Daryl conceded reluctantly, staring daggers into the boy. "Back up!" The kid ordered sternly. May stood still as Daryl and Carol took small steps towards the doors against their backs. "Back up, please."

"You ain't goin'a shoot me," she said.

"You're right," he said and quickly snatched up the crossbow. "You're tougher than me. Tough enough to get past this," he said as he dragged a knife down the silky wall of a tent. Soon enough, a Walker found its way out of the tangled polyester and made its way for May. It was only a second before her push dagger quietly found its way inside the Dead's brain, and another second before Daryl's machete was planted into the next's. Daryl helped May up from her crouched position on the floor, but they stopped when they heard a gunshot ring in the air behind him.

"Carol!" Daryl hissed, looking back as he saw the muzzle of Carol's semi-automatic pointed at the boy. May boldly put herself in Carol's line of fire and knocked the gun from the older woman's hands. With the clatter of the gun as it hit the floor, May began racing after the boy with Daryl on her tail. Carol looked at her small gun on the floor with moon eyes before she realized that her companions were far ahead of her if they'd gotten past the exit. However, they hadn't—she discovered, when she found them both pushing themselves up against a door locked from the other side.

Shortly after, they found another door that only led empty office space. Carol made an effort to explain herself as they three walked speedily across the linoleum floor: "Three bullets. We're in the middle of the city and he was stealing our weapons. Did you think I was going to kill him?"

Neither Daryl nor May replied, but May's eyes flashed over to Carol with a look of obscene disapproval. After what had happened with Mika and Lizzie, would she really have no qualms about killing another kid? "I was aiming for his leg. Could that have killed him? Maybe, I don't know—but he _was_ stealing our weapons."

"He's just a damn kid," Daryl uttered as they reached another door that was locked. Daryl slid his knife out of its sheath and automatically began working on the locked knob.

"And without weapons we could die," she tried to explain, but neither of the two seemed enlightened by her defense. "Beth could die," she tried appealing to Daryl.

"We'll find more weapons," May answered, slipping a smaller knife to Daryl as she noticed the large one he was trying to pick the lock with wasn't working effectively.

"I don't want you to die. I don't want Beth to die. I don't want anybody at the church to die, but I can't stand around and watch it happen either. _I can't—_ that's why I left. I just had to be someplace else!"

"Well you ain't someplace else; you're right here!" Daryl turned around. "You're tryin'."

"Look, you're not who you were and neither am I," she began again. The lock finally popped and the door sprang open an inch. Daryl handed back the knife with a look of satisfaction. "And I don't know anymore if I believe in God or heaven, but if I'm going to Hell, I'm making damn sure I'm holding it off as long as possible."

Her eyes moved to May in a flash of unjustified anger towards the God-fearing girl. "You heard me," she said with a straight, grim face. May looked at the ground and picked up Daryl's bag for him, accidentally spilling its contents into the hall the door Daryl'd open emptied into. In front of Daryl and May, scattered on the ground with Daryl's other few belongings, was the book from the domestic abuse center on survivors of child abuse. Carol couldn't see into the hallway and she was too torn between fuming and beginning to feel bad for taking some of her anger out on May, but May could certainly see the secret Daryl had kept hidden in his bag. Prepared to snatch up his bag with a rude push, Daryl was knocked out of the way himself by May. She picked up the book with gently as she did the balled-up shirt and the rusted knife that had come out of his bag too; she treated them all the same and looked back up at him with genuine, though unaffected, eyes.

"Sorry," she said to him quietly—not made shy by discovering what was in his bag. Daryl was surprised by her reaction; he knew she wasn't one to butt in on business that wasn't hers, but he had at least expected those stormy-blue eyes to go wide in pity. But they hadn't.

Daryl nodded after a moment's hesitation. He was made more awkward than she was. Carol's mind drew away from her recent burst of anger and focused on the unusual interaction between Daryl and May. But it only lasted a moment, because soon they were headed down the staircase Daryl had broken into with May in the lead.

As Daryl watched her apricot orange hair shine beneath his pointed flashlight, he realized him much he liked her quiet tenderness.

The walk to the freeway was long, far, and hot, but they proceeded without running into any trouble for the most part. All three took down a handful of Walkers, but otherwise they hadn't been bothered much. A few of the Dead trudged along their trail, but they were a decent stretch away.

Carol looked at the backs of Daryl and May with guilt in her eyes. She hadn't meant to lash out at either of them, but she couldn't stand the person she was slowly becoming. She tried desperately to defend her own actions to herself and to her two companions, but her efforts seemed fruitless. She had tried to shoot a kid.

May had picked up a map that'd blown past her in the hot wind at some point in their journey, and Daryl watched her flatten its creases against her legs. She looked like an idiot, he thought, with this gigantic, unfolded map stretched out in front of her torso and head. What was she doing—trying to work her way around a map like a tourist… in the middle of the fucking apocalypse? The depth of her idiocy was fully realized by Daryl when she nearly ran into a Walker that was heading her way. He had spotted it but hadn't done anything about it, he wanted to see how unaware she really was.

May yelped when the map pushed towards her face and she finally came to realize there was a Walker up against her—her only defense being the map. Daryl sighed and sunk his knife into the Walker's temple, letting it fall to her feet.

"What the hell're you doin'? You could'a died right then if I hadn't'a been here to save your scrawny ass."

May kicked the Walker's head before looking up to Daryl and scowling. "Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit… I sure'd be dead as a doornail without you here!" She exclaimed sarcastically.

Daryl was surprised she'd been so jeering—he'd just expected her to look at him with big eyes and a frown. He squinted at her as she scowled at him. "Well, we're runnin' all o'er hell's half-acre an' you're standin' 'ere readin' some damn map with your head up your ass!"

"How's I supposed t' read with my head up m' ass?"

Daryl seethed. He reached for the map and ripped it out of her hands, crumbling it in a ball and throwing it to the sidewalk.

May gasped. "You snake!" She cried, slamming a fist into his arm and mustering enough strength to actually shove him. Now Daryl wasn't just startled by her outcry, but also her boldness.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, regaining his footing as she ran over to the sidewalk, picking up the balled-up map. Daryl rubbed his arm but quickly left the buzzing, temporary pain alone, careful not to show her that she'd actually wounded him. "Christ, could you piss off the pope."

"Don't you use the Lord's—"

"Oh, won't you two shut up?" Carol shouted from behind, a laugh wrapped around her tongue. Both Daryl and May looked back at Carol with side-eyed glances before continuing to glare at one another.

May's attention eventually returned to her map as she worked at unfolding and flattening it some more. She began to mutter to herself. "If you'd not been such a big jerk, you'd'a figured out this is actually a map of Atlanta," she eventually said in a voice loud enough for Daryl to hear.

"What do we need a map for?" He sighed.

"To find our way."

"Don't need no map to find our way. I can get us there," Daryl affirmed. Carol giggled from behind him and he turned to see her and May smiling at one another and leaning in at some sort of esoteric joke. Daryl frowned, he didn't like when people laughed behind his back; it reminded him too much of those days when he was just a kid and the girls would laugh at the cigarette burns on his arms or the violet bruises ringing his eye. "Stop it."

But the two kept laughing.

"What're you two on about?"

"You're such a man—can't take directions from anything or anyone. Not even during the apocalypse."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Would you two just shut up?"

They listened, smiling at each other with the remains of laughter on their lips. Eventually, May had pinpointed their place on the map and her feet were veering towards those of Daryl. She tried to point out things about the what was coming up and how far away things were, but Daryl pushed her away each time.

Suddenly she came crashing into him. "See this right 'ere? That's the World of Coca Cola," she gushed, pointing to a large rectangle on the map. "An' right next t' that's the Aquarium… Wonder what that's like nowadays. Ya'd think the fish'd grow legs 'n start walkin' 'round here like it ain't nobody's business!" She laughed girlishly, causing Carol to emit a chuckle from behind them.

"Would you shut up?" Daryl asked, pushing her away from him with a shove. "Thought you were quiet an' somewhat tolerable, but all of the sudden you're irritatin' as hell and you don't got no qualms 'bout poppin' _personal bubbles."_

May grew quiet momentarily and Daryl nearly laughed. "I'm jus' shy around people I don't know that well."

"Well, you don't know me. You might know Carol, but you don't know me. So stop actin' like we're all buddy-buddy and everything's all right-and-fine."

"Daryl, you'd like May," Carol argued in a motherly tone from behind him.

"Like her?" He looked at May angrily; he looked at the messy red hair clipped to her shoulders and the pink pout beneath her small, elvish nose. "I can't stand her!"

The vulnerability in May's eyes watered down to an uncomfortable puddle as she began to gnaw on the insides of her lips. She faced forward, shoving the map into her bag and readjusting the blades clipped to her chest and the guns on her belt. Without another word, she moved on, and Daryl couldn't help but think about how she hadn't even thought of judging him when she found that damned book in his bag. But here he was, judging her for only trying to be herself.

A thick jacket of dirt layered the eggshell paint job of the white-cross bus crashed through the side of the freeway. Daryl stepped around the faded tires and geometric cutouts of old cardboard that littered the asphalt, reaching for the automobile's back door and throwing them open with his long, dirtied arms.

"All right," he sighed. "Let's get this done," he said as he set his hands on the inside of the bus, prepared to lift himself up and in.

"It's unstable—" Carol stopped him. With a gentle prod, she pushed May towards him. "She's the lightest here. Have her go."

Daryl rolled his eyes at May, however, and got up in the bus himself. May looked back angrily at Carol before climbing in herself, following Daryl as he plopped himself down in the driver's seat. May reached for the figurine of the Mother Mary on the dashboard and rubbed the smudge off its head. She slid it into her bag. Daryl found it hard not to laugh at her.

The vehicle shuddered when Carol jumped in the back, sliding up to meet Daryl and May up front. She looked out May's window and squinted. "More comin'."

"Yeah, I see 'em," Daryl muttered, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought of what to do.

"We're going to have to fight through."

Daryl flipped over the gurney in the back of the bus and read the typography beneath the insignia on its underside. "GMH. What's that, a hospital?"

"I don't know… Grady Memorial maybe?" Carol said as she hopped out of the back of the bus with her pack on her back. May followed closely behind.

"Grady, the white crosses… That might be where their holin' up!" Daryl shouted as he jumped out too.

The ring of Carol's gunshot rang in Daryl and May's ears warily, just as it had after she'd shot at the kid. But this time they worried for Walkers nearby hearing the sound of the bullet ripping through the air.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl watched as May took out Walkers like a machine—one by one by one. She wasn't even moving around that much, just repeating the same motions: Step, swing, skewer, repeat.

But soon there were too many—Carol had drawn them from far and wide. Daryl pulled Carol and May back into the bus with him and he slammed shut the back doors, securing them inside the lopsided vehicle. Their safety and security balanced between two unsteady weights. One half of the scale was weighed down by the crowd of the Dead slapping their deteriorating hands against the back window; on the other half was more literally the imbalance of the bus. As May slid up towards the seats between Daryl and Carol, the bus jerked and she swallowed a yelp. Sitting as she sat in the car they drove into the city, she was between two spots with seat-belts.

"Buckle up!" He shouted to Carol, thinking of squishing May over there with the older woman but worrying for her frail bones. Carol was in no way weak, but her older age was an unavoidable obstacle and it would probably be best for May to double-buckle with him instead of Carol.

Daryl yanked May's wrist and pushed himself against the door, stretching the seatbelt away from him and over May, who eagerly gripped the buckle and set them both in their seats with a click. The bus began rocking and croaking beneath their feet; May could nearly feel the infrastructure crumbling away. She looked back and watched the hands slam against the window like a movie on repeat—their moans and groans the soundtrack.

"Don't look back," she heard Daryl say as he braced himself for the approaching fall. His hands clamped the dashboard in front of him with a detectably impeccable strength, but May tugged one hand from the cheap leather and clutched her hand in his. The strength and heat of her hand was relatively shocking to Daryl, he hadn't expected her hands to be so powerful. He liked the way she practically crushed his knuckles, it distracted him from the death looming right in front of him. "You hold on," he told her and she nodded minutely, her face pale and her freckles as disorganized and abundant as the stars in the night sky.

With a couple more kicks and pats and shoves from the Walkers, the bus skidded forward and tumbled in the air. May half-expected her life to flash before her eyes, but all she could see was black as she winced and clamped shut her eyes, burying her head in Daryl's arm.

It happened in less than ten seconds, and soon that darkness transformed to bright white light. And it wasn't God coming to her and offering her a hand to heaven, it was the explosion of opaque powder released by the airbags. May didn't entirely remember the airbag hitting her face, but when she opened her eyes to all that white, she saw a deflated airbag on the steering wheel in front of her and it felt like she had been punched in the face.

In the silent second directly following the crash, she coughed quietly as the dust the airbags had released settled in her lungs. Daryl grunted uncomfortably and blinked his eyes repeatedly, trying to reassert himself in his surroundings.

"We made it," Carol sighed.

Soon enough, a _thump_ that sounded as heavy as a human body echoed on the bus' roof and dented in its ceiling a little bit. Another Walker dropped and cracked the windshield until it looked like a hundred spiders had crawled across it and each had laid their silky strings.

Every time one of the Dead dropped, May's grip on Daryl's hand tightened, like the repetitive squeezing rhythm of a heart, reminding him she was alive.

When the dropping of bodies ended, their adrenaline hardened and all of their shoulders seemed to slump.

"It's rainin' Walkers," May giggled.

Daryl rolled his eyes, kicking open the car door and pushing her away from him.


End file.
